A busy town bustling. Cars driving in and out, back and fourth, round and about. Sun setting on a cold evening, the water settled for a moment. A train bridge reflected in water. I stood for a moment, admiring the colour and shape. Arriving at 4pm I walked to one end and back again, struggling to get a lift and make a move on the kilometres to go. Nerves prodding and panic bubbling, I stood on a bridge and just looked. I liked the triangles. People peered at me from in their cars, shamelessly stared at me as they walked by. The sky was slightly purple, and the red bridge seemed to disappear into the dull industrial background. A pity, really. Finally a van pulled up, a happy Pole. He drove me to the next Statoil. Ah, Statoil.

...